


Tomorrow (It never comes)

by thelostrocketeer



Series: past present future [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Also look!, Alternate Universe, Confessions, Hunters, Idk what to tag this with, M/M, ONE FINE DAY, Okay so maybe this really is angst., One day I shall write full blown angst, Secrets, So badly written sigh, almost-angst, idk - Freeform, so close, third person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-16
Updated: 2012-08-16
Packaged: 2017-11-12 06:46:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/487898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelostrocketeer/pseuds/thelostrocketeer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where the super powers are reversed, Stiles has a secret. <br/>A secret that could kill him. <br/>Will kill him.</p><p>or: One thousand words of angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tomorrow (It never comes)

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for my English class, with a female werewolf. I thought of making it about Erica but then I decided, nah let's just make it Sterek because of the absolute lack of in the finale. *insertfrownyfacehere*.
> 
> Anyway, the flow is really sloppy and I might come back and clean it up because I'm not that happy with it, but I'm lazy, so. 
> 
> Anyway. Enjoy?

###### 

_Tomorrow never comes._

_And that’s the truth- because today will be yesterday and tomorrow will be today, every day._

 

So our Hero (let’s call him Stiles) waits for tomorrow to show her face. Because our Hero has a secret. Perhaps he isn’t even really a Hero, but a Villain.

Our Hero is a hunter, you see? And hunters have long since been outlawed ever since the Wolves gained power and the hunter became the hunted. In fact, there are so few hunters now that he’s not sure that there are any left. Perhaps he’s the last one. And he's decided. The line ends here.

 

 _Tomorrow,_ he thinks.

 

Tomorrow, he’ll tell his Love his deepest darkest secret. He’ll unveil himself to him in submission to the law. His Love will bare his fangs and howl, and Stiles thinks that perhaps he’ll cry. He’ll look at him like our Hero’s the devil- and he probably is, but it’s not his fault- you can’t choose which family you’re born into. Not really.

You see, it wasn’t supposed to be like this… he wasn’t supposed to fall in love. All he was supposed to do was find the Alpha and kill him. But along the way dark hair, piercing green eyes, a tongue that marks, and a body that presses itself onto our Stiles like it wants to seep into every pore on his skin came along and ruined his well thought out plan.

His name was Derek, and he was beautiful.

And so our unlikely Hero found himself falling, falling, falling; a headfirst spiral into the impossibly deep hole called love.

And every day, he would tell himself that tomorrow he would get back on track; get back in line, back on the trail of the Alpha. But tomorrow never came and maybe it never will come.

Now he’s in too deep and every day he holds this secret is another day against his name, against his chance of coming out of tomorrow alive. So he’s decided to give up the fight. He’s probably going to die, anyway. And like a man awaiting his death, he tells himself that he wants tomorrow to just hurry up and be here already.

 

_Tomorrow, I will tell him. I’ll tell him everything._

 

Because-

Why delay the inevitable, when doing so only makes it worse?

Yet for our Hero, every day is a time bomb and every night is a suffocating blanket of fear and panic attacks; waiting for tomorrow to rear her ugly head and tear him apart- limb from limb, muscles and skin coming apart.

Because tomorrow he’ll explain the runic markings on his arms; brown ink tattooed into translucent skin, symbols with hidden meanings and secret messages. He’ll tell him why he can’t come into his house; because the wooden door frames have been painted with paint laced with Mountain Ash. He’ll tell him all the deepest darkest secrets; that the Stilinksi’s have hunted his kind since the eighteen hundreds. That he’s spilt the blood of innocent Wolves.

 

 _Tomorrow will be the day._ He tells himself every night.

 

But then sometimes he feels sad about tomorrow and sometimes he asks himself why he wants to do this anyway.

You see, the pros don’t outweigh the cons. In fact, there are no pros to speak of. And sometimes he thinks he’s delusional and maybe one day he’ll wake up and this will all just have been a demented dream… In fact, to be perfectly honest-

He doesn’t want tomorrow to come sometimes.

He’ll miss the way they love each other, the way he howls at the moon. He’ll miss running with him when he’s in wolfed out, bounding along on all fours ahead of him, too fast for him. He’ll miss the way his eyes flash aqua when he’s angry, or sad, or annoyed. He’ll miss the way he sniffs at his jugular, holding him in place, marking him as his own. He’ll miss the way his skin is always warm and his mouth is always sure.

He’ll make sure to hold him close, and kiss him slowly before he tells. He’ll make sure to remind Derek that he loves him first, before he opens his mouth and speaks his last.

Because the moment he tells him, Derek’ll have to kill him. It’s the _law_.

 

But resolutely, Stiles tells himself tomorrow he’ll put down his weapons, finally put to death the family tradition of hunting werewolves. He’ll lay himself down to the mercy of his beloved. He’ll stretch his neck across his feet and wait to feel the sharp sting of strong claws against his soft human flesh. Or perhaps the quick twist of his hands on both sides of his head. And then he’ll feel nothing.

 

But you see-

Tomorrow never comes.

 

Everytime he tries, he can never call up the courage to tell Derek what he is, why he did the things he did. He can never bring himself to let go of Derek's large hand, look him in the eye and show him Stiles' true face. The one behind the mask of his childish retroussé nose and his easy smile; the face that comes out when our Hero cuts through flesh and bone in grim determination and concentrated strength. The face that’s been splattered with innocent blood too many times to count.

So they continue on, like there’s nothing wrong. They still listen to Depeche Mode and they still run through the woods. He still tells Derek he loves him and Derek in turn still howls at the full moon to tell the _whole world_ that he loves him. They still spend their days together, reading Haruki Murakami and playing Rock Band; drinking cold cans of cokes and eating homemade cookies out of a brown bag.

 

Yet he keeps telling himself that tomorrow he’ll show Derek the arrows and the knives, the Wolfsbane-laced bullets and the silver plated handcuffs. He keeps telling himself that if he doesn’t do it tomorrow, he never will. He reminds himself that giving himself up is better than being caught, his death will be carried out quicker.

Maybe Derek will even let him try to escape, give him a head start.

But he’s never been able to outrun him, anyway.

 

So he waits for tomorrow. Because tomorrow _will_ come.

Probably.

And then our Hero will break, or maybe his Love will break him.

_In half._

 

Tomorrow.

__


End file.
